The Answer
by Pierce Connor
Summary: Post Goth Girl Rising fic. After finishing a three month jail sentence, Kyra tries to figure out what makes her a worthwhile person. Inspired by philosopher René Descartes, she decides to get rid of all of her negative qualities. Please Read and Review
1. Chapter 1

The Answers

by Pierce Connor

Chapter One

I walk down the stark, gray corridor for the last time. My three month sentence is finally over. It doesn't feel real though. Maybe it just didn't feel like three months. It feels like only yesterday I was pleading guilty at my arraignment. It was my first offense, technically, so the judge gave me a light jail sentence. I think I know why the time felt so short. It was because of Fanboy. Yes, I've relapsed into calling him that. He says he likes it. Anyway, he's been really supportive and everything. He visited me every day, without fail. He even took time out from working on Schemata to see me. I'm not sure how to feel about that. I'm glad that he cared enough to come, but I want Schemata to go well too, so I feel guilty that's he's setting it aside because of me. I feel something else too: a mix of regret and gratitude. Why? Because Fanboy braved each of my horrid teachers every day to make sure I was caught up on my class assignments. See, I kind of have this complicated duality regarding school: I hate having to go, but I still want to do well. I guess it's just one of my quirks. So I've passed the time doing homework and thinking about things. Now I'm finally about to leave.

I listen to a short speech from some uniformed guard about living by the law and then the door opens and I take a deep breath, allowing the air to fill my lungs. I never thought something as simple as oxygen could taste so sweet. The first thing I see when I step outside its the car. His car. He's walking towards me with a smile. I can hardly believe what I'm seeing. Even today, he came. I walk forwards and meet him halfway. "How does it feel?" he asks me, "Being out, I mean." I look at him. That's a strange question, completely out of left field, but I answer anyway. "Like freedom," I tell him, "But I need to ask you something. Why did you keep visiting me? I mean, even if we were friends, I'm still the girl who almost ruined your life and involved you in my stupid mistake." Tears are starting to fall from my eyes now. Without warning, Fanboy wraps his arms around me, which, as usual, makes feel safe, secure, invincible. "Kyra, we've been over this," he says, "None of that stuff you mentioned matters. I came because I love you. There's no 'why' involved. It's completely unconditional." If there's a God out there, I should probably thank him for the miracle that is Fanboy. He's right. I've heard that answer before and I believe it. I guess I keep asking because I don't understand how it can be true. How can he love someone like me unconditionally? Well, it's a good thing, so I shouldn't worry too much now. "Come on," he says to me, "I'll take you home." I nod silently and follow him to his car. I settle into the passenger's side, and he begins driving away from the jailhouse.

Shortly into the ride home, another question occurs to me. "I need to ask something else," I say, "You know me better than anyone else. What do you think it is that makes me worthwhile?" Fanboy suddenly looks at me like I just said something really strange. "You don't need me to tell you what makes you a worthwhile person," he answers, "You already know that. You just need to take some time and figure it out." I'm surprised. He makes it sound so simple. Maybe it is. "I think I can do that," I tell him, "But...will you help me?" I feel so uncertain, asking a question like that, "I think it'll be too big to handle on my own." He smiles at me and I have to keep myself from melting right then and there. His smile always makes my heart skip a few beats. It's not like he has a really bright smile or anything, like the kind that most so-called "normal" girls always fall for, but it has this open, honest quality to it. "Of course I'll help you," he tells me, "You know I'm always going to be here for you." I nod again, not able to come up with a response to that. Bless him, bless him, bless him a thousand times over. What have I done to deserve someone like him? I already know the answer to that: Nothing. I guess that's what makes this so great. Anyway, I'm starting to think that with his help, I can solve this. He's right after all. The answer to the question is already in me, I just have to find it. "Fanboy," I say, letting the nickname roll across my tongue, savoring it, "Thank you. For everything." He shakes his head at me. "There's no need to thank me," he answers back, "I mean, you helped me back then, so it's the least I can do to return the favor." I smile at him and it comes naturally, same as always. I'll be fine. As long as he's with me, I know I can do this.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

I stay quiet on the ride home. Fanboy doesn't make much conversation, which would normally be a problem, but this time I appreciate it. It gives me a chance to think. The first thing that comes to mind is that I can't live the same way I have been. Fanboy is right. Only I really know what makes me worthwhile. I just have to take some time to find it. I'm reminded of this book I read once: Meditations on the First Philosophy by René Descartes. See, Descartes was this seventeenth century French philosopher. About midway through his life, he realized that his old way of doing things wasn't working for him. He went about trying to destroy the old foundations of his life and start over from a better foundation. That's kind of what I want to do too. I don't know where my self-worth is, but I know where it isn't and that's in a jail cell. I never want to see that place again, which means step one is no more stealing cars. Ditto for the mental health unit, which means step two is no more suicide attempts. Not that I have to anyway. As long as Fanboy is here with me, I'll be staying in the land of the living.

"Are you OK?" Fanboy asks me, breaking the silence. I can hear the note of concern in his voice. I take a deep breath and consider that question. Am I OK? I suppose that's one of the great questions. "I don't know," I admit, giving an honest answer. That's another thing I've decided on: honesty. I mean sure, I've lied before, but now that I think about it, I never really got anything worthwhile out of it, so the lying gets thrown out. I guess I'm not up to Descartes' level just yet, but I'm getting there. I go back to answering Fanboy's question. "I think maybe I will be," I say to him, "I've just got some stuff I have to get over." He nods at me, giving me a smile while still managing to keep his eyes on the road. It's actually pretty impressive that he's not looking at me and still manages to make me feel like everything is going to be O.K.

The ride doesn't take as long as I initially thought that it would. Fanboy parks the car in front of my house and quietly steps out of the car. He comes around to my side and opens my door. He doesn't have to do that, but I appreciate the gesture anyway. I walk step out of the door and make my way for the steps. Fanboy follows me and that makes me smile. He's letting me know that he's with me, every step of the way. When we reach the door, he takes my hand, just like he did the night I got arrested. The memory comes rushing back to me. I was too scared even to ring the doorbell, scared of losing the moment. But with his help, I was able to do it, just like I'll be able to do this. See, I decided something else on the way here. I have to make things right with Roger. I've been incredibly unfair to him. My reasons for being angry at him may not have been as justified as I thought. I mean, yeah, from an objective standpoint, his smoking caused Mom to die and I was resentful of the way he treated me, but it wasn't fair. It's like Fanboy one said to me: adults are just trying. Maybe I should give Roger the benefit of the doubt on this one.

"Together?" Fanboy offers me, looking at the doorbell. I understand his offering and I nod. He brings my hand towards the small button that works the doorbell and together we extend our fingers toward the button. The sound of the doorbell echoes through the house. I hear the sound of Roger's footsteps almost instantaneously and I begin to suspect that he was waiting for me. Of course, that makes sense. Fanboy probably told him that I was coming. I'm grateful for that. It means I have less explaining to do. I want this to be as easy as possible. The door opens and Roger is standing in the doorway. He seems glad to see me, which surprises me a little.

"Hello Kyra," he greets me, "It's good to see you." I give him a warm, easy smile, trying to be as friendly as possible. "It's good to see you too," I tell him, before turning back to Fanboy, "Thank you for the ride." He gives me a look that says "no problem" and walks back down the stairs. I turn back to Roger, who smiles at me. "He's a good guy," Roger says, "You're lucky to know him." I nod at him and smile back. I'm glad that he said that. "I know I am," I tell him, "I'm really lucky, for a lot of reasons." I give him a serious look. "I have something I need to tell you," I say to him, "I need to tell you that…that I'm sorry." I hear my voice choke on those last words and I can feel the tears starting to pour from my eyes. "I'm sorry about the way I treated you," I say through the tears, "I never had any right to be angry with you." To my surprise, Roger comes to me and wraps his arms around me. This is a sensation I'm getting used to, but not from Roger. "You did have a right," he tells me, "It is true that it's my fault…that your mother died, but that's not the worst. I never understood you. I never really saw what you were going through." I pull myself out of his embrace and shake my head in an attempt to reject that statement. "No," I say, "That's not right. You may not have understood, but you did try. You made an effort, which is more than I can say for myself." I decide to end the conversation there and head to my old room. It's exactly the way it was three months ago. So, Roger had always hoped that I would come back. That makes me feel slightly comforted. My computer is on the desk, but I decide not to use it tonight. Instead, I decide to take the next step of my Cartesian quest. I start with a change of outfit, getting out of the prison issued clothing and into something suitable for sleep. I turn off all the lights and sit on my bed and just think.


End file.
